


with my heart in my lap

by lilithqueen



Category: Obsidian and Blood - Aliette de Bodard
Genre: Animal Transformation, Curses, Hand Jobs, M/M, Non-Human Genitalia, Werewolves, were-coyote technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:20:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27869057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithqueen/pseuds/lilithqueen
Summary: For the duration of each full moon, Acatl is cursed into a form between man and beast. Teomitl should probably be horrified. He isn't.(He's very willing to show Acatl just hownothorrified he is.)
Relationships: Acatl/Teomitl (Obsidian and Blood)





	with my heart in my lap

**Author's Note:**

> Acatl's snarky narration: "or I could grow fangs and turn into a coyote."
> 
> Me: *eyes emoji*
> 
> title: [i wish i was the moon tonight - neko case](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zDJr-gijrPc)

There were nights Acatl loved. Nights where he could relax with a full belly and a reasonably peaceful heart, where his only major concerns were the day-to-day problems of his temple and any outstanding cases at least didn’t require his personal attention. Nights where he could rest and dream of anything other than blood and death. (And if some of those dreams were of Teomitl’s bright eyes and the curve of his mouth, that was a strictly private matter.)

And then there were nights like this.

He’d been able to sense the change in the air at dawn; as the day wore on, the tension prickling across his scalp and over his skin only worsened. He’d found himself snappish and ill-tempered even with Ichtaca, and had only barely remembered to send a messenger to the palace to let Teomitl know there would be no lessons today. There couldn’t be, with the full moon coming on. At least his order had learned to work around his...condition. Though their High Priest would be indisposed, they could care for the dead just as well without him. Ichtaca had been very firm in making sure he knew that when he’d first been appointed.

(It hadn’t been the _most_ embarrassing conversation of his life, but it was absolutely up there. There just wasn’t a dignified way to discuss an unbreakable curse that put him out of commission every full moon.)

He knew he shouldn’t worry. His priests had matters well in hand, and he’d always maintained enough control over his own mind to ensure he wouldn’t be a physical danger to those around him. Politically...well, that was another matter. He didn’t even want to _think_ about the repercussions for his order if word got out; Acamapichtli would surely love nothing more than to destroy him after what he’d done to Tlaloc. But it would be well. All would be well. All he had to do was stay inside and out of sight until dawn.

As the sun set, he made his preparations. Ichtaca had been by earlier to stockpile plenty of food—duck and rabbit and turkey, venison and the tough flesh of peccaries—so he wouldn’t be half-starved by the time he was done. There was fresh, cold water waiting by his mat, along with thick blankets that he really didn’t need (indeed, the curse always made him run almost painfully hot), but he appreciated the gesture anyway. He’d just lifted his worship-thorns to his ear for his nightly offering to Mictlantecuhtli when he heard something that did not belong in the routine of his cursed full-moon nights.

Someone was coming. For a moment it was almost reassuring— _just one of my priests checking on me, I’ll send them away_ —and then he recognized the footsteps. There was only one person in Tenochtitlan who walked like that, like he was angry at the distance he crossed for separating him from his goal.

He almost couldn’t breathe.

_Teomitl._

It was all the warning he had before the entrance curtain jingled with the weight of a hand on it, not yet pushing it aside, and his student’s voice called softly, “Acatl-tzin?”

 _I have to get him away from here. I can’t let him—_ “What are you doing here?!” It came out as far more of a snarl than he intended, and if the circumstances hadn’t been so dire he would have felt bad. But his teeth were starting to itch, and that was the first sign.

“One of your priests said you would be indisposed for the next three days. I came to see if there was anything I could do.”

He wasn’t sure which priest he’d sent to the palace; the closer it was to sunset, the harder it was to focus on anything outside of his own body. Suddenly that seemed like a dreadful oversight on his part. Duality, hadn’t they all been warned not to go into details? Or had Teomitl asked, in his usual terribly persuasive way, and had the priest folded like wet paper? He took a deep breath, feeling it rumble through his lungs. His skin felt hot and tight across his back. “No. I am _fine_ —“ A sudden lance of pain scorched through his chest, and he broke off with a cry. “Ah!”

“Acatl-tzin?!”

And then Teomitl was there, in his house, and Acatl couldn’t do anything about it. He was grateful that he was already sitting down; it was easier to breathe as the pain ebbed. When he could think again, he registered that Teomitl was kneeling by his side with warm hands resting on his arms, and his deep brown eyes were very close. “I’m…” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. Like this, it was impossible to lie.

Teomitl’s gaze flickered around the room for a moment before returning to Acatl’s face, eyes dark and serious. “What happened? Should I fetch you a healing priest?”

He closed his eyes. _Duality, you won’t leave me alone until I tell you, won’t you? Even though...even though I…_ Even though he couldn’t bear the thought of Teomitl looking at him with horror and disgust, even though he couldn’t bear the idea of burdening another person—a warrior of imperial blood, no less—with his secret. (Even though a part of him whispered warm and bright in his chest, _Maybe it will help. Maybe_ he _will help.)_

“Five years ago,” he began, “I fought a shapeshifting sorcerer.” Saying the words brought the events of that night flooding back in a tide of sensation—the brisk night air, the stitch in his side, the blood on his hands and cloak, the savage snapping of teeth in his face. “He was—“ Duality, there had been so much blood. His breath came harsh in his throat, and he knew it wasn’t only due to his own memories. All of a sudden, he _hungered._ “He took coyote form. To—to _hunt._ To slay innocents for his own lusts. I slew him, but in his final breath he—cursed—“

Pain stole the words from his throat, and he nearly gagged. _Gods, not now. Not now!_ But there was no stopping it; he barely managed to shove Teomitl away as he collapsed onto his side in the patch of moonlight on his floor, breathing hard. Dimly he heard Teomitl’s shocked cry, but he could find no reassurance to give him. _I’m so sorry._

In his more lucid moments, he’d briefly wondered if the sorcerer had suffered through as much pain in _his_ transformations; it wasn’t something Acatl could imagine any sane man choosing. His chest felt as though it’d been hollowed out and filled with fire, the long bones in his legs and feet screaming as they stretched. He could barely feel his face, the pain of a shifting skull and growing jaw simply too much to register. If he’d had any breath, he would have screamed. Next to that, the burning itch of erupting fur was almost pleasant. He clawed off his loincloth frantically, unable to think of modesty past the oversensitivity of his skin. If Teomitl was horrified, he could damn well deal with it.

The agony faded slowly. After long moments during which he counted each heartbeat, he became aware of his own body again. Or rather—his own body, for the duration of each night of the full moon. A man’s torso and arms covered in reddish-gray fur, the head and hindquarters of a giant coyote, hands ending in razor-sharp claws. He licked his lips, tasted blood, and heard his stomach growl.

“...Acatl.” Teomitl’s shaking voice was coming from a spot just within arms’ reach. “Gods. _Gods._ Is that—are you…?” Words seemed to have failed him.

A sensible man would have run. Acatl, not for the first time, came to the conclusion that Teomitl was anything but. With effort, he nodded. This close, he could smell Teomitl’s skin; if he listened, he could hear his pulse racing hard through his veins.

“Oh, Acatl-tzin.” He didn’t sound terrified. Dismayed, certainly, and perhaps a bit concerned, but not terrified. “Does it hurt?”

He shook his head, taking a deep breath. It was possible to talk in this form, though only with some difficulty. Long words made his tongue hurt. “Not anymore.” After a small eternity, he managed to open his eyes and focus his gaze on Teomitl’s face. He looked smaller like this, more vulnerable. _Like prey,_ whispered his instincts, but he shook the thought away. _I am not so much of a beast. And he is strong._ It was several more long moments before he could arrange himself into a more or less upright seated position, grabbing at the remains of his loincloth to drape over his lap as his sense of shame reasserted itself.

 _Someone_ had to be embarrassed, because Teomitl clearly wasn’t. He was studying him with open curiosity as he moved, head cocked to the side like a bird. Still, he swallowed hard when they made eye contact, and Acatl saw his eyes widen. One hand hovered half-curled in the air, frozen in the middle of reaching for him as he clearly thought better of it. “...Can I...touch you?”

 _What._ But Teomitl was still watching him, and Acatl felt his heart skip a beat. _Gods, yes, please._ He closed his eyes, barely daring to move, and nodded.

A gentle hand landed on his jaw first, tracing through the thick fur. If it hadn’t been so warm, it might have tickled; as it was, he found himself shivering for an entirely different reason. Teomitl murmured, “Remarkable. Sorcerers don’t usually...leave themselves in this in-between form, do they?” At the minute shake of his head, Teomitl’s fingers tensed. “Thus the curse. Still...Acatl-tzin, I cannot imagine anyone being scared of you like this.”

“...I am a monster.” It slipped out before he could take it back.

“You are _not.”_ Both hands came up on either side of his jaw, cradling his face; he opened his eyes instinctively and found himself meeting Teomitl’s narrowed, serious gaze. “You are Acatl, no matter what form you take.”

He was absurdly grateful to be covered in thick fur. It meant Teomitl couldn’t see how hard he would surely have been blushing if he was in his human skin. “Teomitl…”

Teomitl took a slow breath and dropped his hands. “...I’m sorry. I overstepped.”

 _Overstepped?_ It took him a moment to figure out what Teomitl meant, but then he realized. _He’s never addressed me like that before._ The thought made his heart flop like a landed fish in his chest. Hastily, he shook his head. “No. I—you can say my name. Like that. I don’t...I don’t mind.”

Teomitl’s smile was as slow and radiant as the dawn. “Acatl.” He only hesitated a heartbeat this time before reaching for him again. “Can I…”

His claws dug into his knees, drawing pinpricks of blood, but he nodded. Whatever was between them felt too fragile to disturb with words, but he burned for more—had _been_ burning for more ever since that first proper lesson with Teomitl, where his student had looked up at him and _smiled_ and he’d felt it like lightning in his bones. _Duality, let me have this. Even if it kills me, let me have this._

This time, Teomitl’s hands fell to his shoulders. The fur was thinner here and over his torso, no impediment at all to the careful touch tracing wiry muscles and old scars. (He was being so careful— _so_ careful, like Acatl was something rare and precious instead of a beast—but each touch made Acatl’s blood burn anyway.) His voice was warm and assessing, with a smile curving his lips that Acatl was afraid to look too closely at. “Mm...you’re built the same. Larger overall, I think, but the same.”

He huffed out a breath. “Not very...impressive, I know.” Not like Teomitl, whose bare skin was distracting whether it was gilded by sunlight or edged in the glow of the silvery moon. The boy moved like a jaguar, all coiled power and sinuous grace. Even when he was fully human, when a good half of his mind wasn’t taken over by the instincts of the coyote, it was a sight that made him hunger. _Xochiquetzal said I’d forgotten what made me alive. Maybe I had. But then, I hadn’t met him yet._ Now, it was all he could do to keep his gaze trained on a point just over Teomitl’s left shoulder and his mind on anything but the profound urge to feel hot flesh against his. His pulse thundered under his skin. _Though it be jade, it is crushed, as soon as the flowers open they fall..._

Then Teomitl slid his hands down over his chest, thumb finding the edge of one nipple hidden under the fur, and all thoughts of hymns and Mictlan flew out of his head. He gasped out loud, snapping his eyes back to Teomitl’s face to find him grinning. “Very impressive to _me.”_

“Teomitl!” For a small mercy, Teomitl’s hand stilled. Acatl’s heart did not. It was racing, hammering against his ribs so hard it was a wonder they held. He swallowed convulsively past the sudden lump in his throat. _He’s so close. So trusting, so...so tender with me. I could—_

“It’s true.” Teomitl’s smile turned wicked. “You’re beautiful as a man, you know, but in this form...it’s new. I _like_ new things.”

 _He thinks I’m beautiful. And he...even in this form he’s...interested. In me, in this most monstrous part of me._ His mouth suddenly felt very dry. “Do you, now.”

“Mmm.” Teomitl’s hands slid down lower; it felt natural this time to lean back, shivering, as fingers slid over his flat stomach. The loincloth bunched in his lap was suddenly not nearly enough fabric, not when Teomitl was right there and eyeing him like a feast. “I think I like it a _lot.”_

He was half hard already; it would take no effort to get the rest of the way there. He’d never _looked_ at himself in this form, but he knew it hadn’t escaped his transformation unscathed—bulbous in some parts, tapered in others, wholly inhuman. And, judging by the hot gleam in his curious eyes, much to Teomitl’s taste. “Ngh. You, uh. You do?”

This time it was Teomitl’s turn to swallow, finally averting his gaze. “Yes.” It was hushed, heated. “Can I—“

“ _Yes.”_ He didn’t need to think about it. _Anything you want to do. Everything. It’s yours. I’m yours._

Another visible gulp, but then Teomitl’s focus was back on him and he felt heat suffuse his face again. That smile—soft, hopeful, _hungry_ —was entirely too much. “Lay down for me?”

He laid down. It felt strange, honestly; he typically spent his full-moon nights hunched over awkwardly and trying to shrink back into his skin, every moment a prayer for the sun to rise quickly. Being sprawled on his back should have felt vulnerable, and it did, but with Teomitl shifting to kneel between his thighs—gods, there was _not_ enough fabric—it was also making his blood pound. He was powerless to repress the rumble in his throat or the shaky, indrawn breath when Teomitl’s fingers brushed the inside of his hip. “What are you— _oh.”_

He was bared to the open air, and Teomitl breathed out slowly as he took in the sight. “Oh, very interesting.”

Acatl steeled himself to say something— _it’s the mark of a beast, you see the curse couldn’t even leave that alone_ —but then one calloused hand wrapped around his length from base to tip, and what came out was a shocked, wordless moan.

Teomitl looked distinctly smug. “Hmmm. You _are_ larger in this shape than you are normally. Everywhere. Do you like this?”

“Teomitl—“ He cut off with an embarrassingly needy whine as Teomitl’s grip tightened. “Oh _gods_ …” That wicked hand just wouldn’t _stop_. His clawed feet dug into the floor under him as he wriggled, seeking more of that friction.

Teomitl stilled his hand. His breath caught in his throat as he shifted, spreading his knees apart, and Acatl only needed to take a breath to smell his arousal. “You do. _Duality_ , you really do.”

 _I do. I want more._ All thoughts of consequences had flown out the window; there was only Teomitl’s hand on his cock, Teomitl’s eyes bright in the darkness. He needed to be closer. Before he could think better of it, he reached out and snagged Teomitl’s cloak to pull him down on top of him; the roughness of his own voice surprised him as he snarled, “I want to touch you.”

Teomitl went willingly, propping himself up on one elbow. In this position they were close enough to kiss if Teomitl felt like braving the fangs; instead of fear or trepidation, his eyes held only the vivid light of desire. He swallowed roughly, rocking his hips forward. If Acatl had had any doubts as to the state of his arousal, they were promptly erased. “You can.”

He shuddered down to his bones. The change in position had left Teomitl’s hand still for the moment, but it was more than pleasure that was coiling through his veins. _He wants me. Gods, I still cannot believe…_ “Even when I’m...like this?” But Teomitl had said he could, and it was impossible to resist; he let his hand drift down over Teomitl’s side to his hip, marveling at how soft the skin felt over such hard muscles.

Teomitl drew back, and for a moment Acatl was afraid he’d misjudged—but then he tilted his head and nuzzled up against his cheek in what was almost a kiss, and Acatl’s heart skipped a beat. “Please.”

Well. Since he’d asked so nicely. He’d never even tried to touch _himself_ in this form— _monster_ hissed the voice in his head whenever he so much as felt a flicker of desire—but now Teomitl was in his arms, warm and solid and alive, and any lingering hints of revulsion were washed away in a tide of desire. It was the work of a moment to tear the loincloth away, fine cotton giving way like paper to his claws and making Teomitl jolt with an eager gasp. Teomitl’s cock was hot and thick in his hand; when he gave it a slow upwards stroke, Teomitl bucked against him with a growl that sent his blood racing again.

“ _Harder.”_ Teomitl was working him again, steady though his own hips were rocking roughly into Acatl’s hand; when he shuddered and met his gaze, hazy-eyed, he found himself grabbing for his hip to hold him in place. He’d said harder, after all. And harder was what he got, Acatl stroking him in a rhythm that made him whine. “Nnn...Acatl…”

“Oh,” he breathed out. “You are so good for me.” Teomitl dropped his head against the crook of his neck, burying his face in the thick ruff of fur there; it wasn’t enough to muffle the noise that escaped him, nor the way he arched into Acatl’s grip. _He likes that. He—_

Then Teomitl was doing something with the angle of his wrist, and his thoughts scattered. There was only the flame heating his blood to an inferno, the pulse of his cock swelling as he approached his release. He wasn’t going to last much longer. “Teomitl—“

The base of his shaft had swelled into a knot; he hadn’t quite realized it at first, but then Teomitl got his hand around it and _squeezed_ and he was coming with a howl. His mind went blank. It was only when the sharp shock of the first peak faded a little and he could think again that he realized Teomitl was still unfulfilled; he pumped his cock faster, and in a few more rough strokes Teomitl was following him over the edge with a hitched gasp.

 _More._ It hit him like a thunderbolt, and his cock pulsed in Teomitl’s hand. Strong fingers rippled around it, and he groaned. It wasn’t enough. It didn’t feel like anything would be enough. He wanted to roll Teomitl over, pin him down, sink in deep. He tried to speak, but only a growl escaped him.

Teomitl’s shaky panting against his neck evened out, and he sucked in a huge breath before letting it out in a sigh. “Gods, you’re still hard. Incredible.”

Words were beyond him. He thrust up into Teomitl’s grip instead, and Teomitl sat up and straddled his thighs so he could put both hands to work. Watching his lover as he pumped one hand over his shaft while the other wrapped nearly all the way around his knot—narrow-eyed, focused, hungry—was almost more than Acatl could bear. Each breath came out in a growl as Teomitl set a pace that left him helpless to do anything but buck into it, half-formed thoughts of more than Teomitl’s hands skittering around the edges of white-hot desire—and then he was coming again, so hard that his vision went white.

For a long moment afterwards, he couldn’t speak. His knot seemed slow to deflate, but it was...enough. For the moment, his desire was sated; he was still twitching, thought he could maybe handle more, but with the edge worn off he could think again. Duality, they’d made a mess. (There might have been less of one if he’d been _inside,_ buried to the hilt, feeling Teomitl hot and tight around him—no. There were limits, surely. Teomitl probably wouldn’t want _that.)_

Teomitl clearly didn’t care how much of a mess they’d made. He stretched out on top of him, nuzzling at Acatl’s collarbone affectionately. “You feel wonderful.” It came out half-muffled by Acatl’s fur, but he didn’t seem to notice.

He took a deep breath. Hesitantly—even after what they’d just done, it was strange to think he was _allowed_ this intimacy—he slid one arm around Teomitl’s waist and let the other rest at his back, just between his shoulderblades. He could feel each thump of his heart. “...I still cannot _believe_ this appeals to you…”

Teomitl smiled. “Because it’s you.”

He started to respond, unsure of what he was going to say even as he opened his mouth— _why_ or _I love you_ both seemed strong candidates—but the rumbling of his own stomach cut him off, and his ears flattened with shame.

It didn’t help much when Teomitl chuckled. “Hungry, after all that?”

He nodded, feeling his face burn. “It...takes a lot out of me. Changing.” _And everything else._

“Hmm.” Slowly, Teomitl pulled away and sat up. There was a clawmark at his hip. “Let’s eat and clean up. And then…” His gaze, drifting around the room, slid back to Acatl with a hopeful gleam. “The night is long, you know. And _I’m_ not especially tired.”

He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. Teomitl was energetic in this, too. “Duality, you are going to kill me.”

“I don’t think so.” He could actually hear Teomitl’s smirk. “You seem to have very impressive stamina in this form _.”_ His voice dropped to a purr. “I’m looking forward to experiencing it later.”

His spent cock gave a hopeful twitch, but then Teomitl was uncovering a tray of roasted venison and he realized he was, in fact, too hungry to give into it just yet. There would be time for such exploration _after_ he’d whetted his appetite.

&

At least turning back was relatively painless. Of course, he still felt like he’d been flattened under the Great Temple when he woke up, but he always slept through the actual shift. He met the dawn naked, drained, and somewhat sticky, but being in his own skin again was a boon in its own right.

And this time, he wasn’t alone. He felt Teomitl’s presence before he even attained full consciousness; there was a warm arm flung over him, a head tucked into his neck, long legs tangled with his. He blinked awake slowly, unsure of what to do, but Teomitl took choice out of his hands by murmuring, “Good morning,” against his skin.

He shivered in pleasure as the words wafted over him. “Mm. Good morning, Teomitl.”

“I love you.” It was barely audible. “I told you that last night, didn’t I?”

He had. Effusively. Their late dinner had led to careful kisses and thorough, wanton exploration as Teomitl coaxed him into some semblance of comfort with his transformed state; by the time they’d both finally been exhausted, Acatl had been forced to admit that being three-quarters coyote did have some advantages. With his inexperience, he doubted it would have been quite so easy to reduce Teomitl to incoherence in his human skin.

The memory of those sweet moments made Acatl shiver. “I could hear it again.”

Teomitl kissed him. It was better—far better—when they both had human mouths; he could mold to the shape of his lips, tilt his head just so, feel Teomitl sigh and arch slowly against him. One hand slid into his hair, a gentle caress, as Teomitl pulled away to breathe, “I love you. No matter what shape you take.”

“Oh?” Their noses were still brushing, waking a contented glow in his chest and bringing a smile to his face. He suddenly found himself with the urge to tease. “Even when I’m only a very boring priest, and not—hm, how did you put it. _Interesting_ at all?”

“ _Boring?!”_

By the time they finally got around to breaking their fast, he was more than glad his priests didn’t expect much of him while the moon was full. Teomitl was very, very thorough when it came to showing him how much he was loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Wanna yell about obsblood with me? Hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ship_to_hell/) or [tumblr](https://notapaladin.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
